Pro Vita Iter Itineris
by Will Write For Food
Summary: “I don’t want to do this anymore!” she cries. “I don't want to wake up every morning and wonder if you’ll be coming back! I'm sorry, James. I just can't." LJ. Oneshot for now. May continue. Let me know if I should!


Disclaimer: (Insert witty disclaimer you've all read a million times.)

**Pro Vita Iter Itineris**

He's late. Of all the things on his mind – a warm meal, a warm house, a warm bed – this prevails over all. He's late, and though he's not sure _how _late, he can practically hear his wife waiting, at home, for any sort of news to reach her. He could be days, weeks, past due. It doesn't matter. Not anymore.

The Muggle taxi rolls to a stop outside a gated little house near the end of the road. _No magic, _Dumbledore's voice echoes in his head. _Not just yet. _

The colors bleed together from the rain and the car's headlights. The pale yellow of the house, the bright green of the trees. All is muted from the darkness and sudden, jagged light. He pays the driver, and steps onto the pavement. Now the fence and an oaken door are the only obstacles keeping him from his love.

Whatever warm welcome, soft embrace, or happy ending he had expected, though, storms right out of the previously mentioned door the moment he walks through it.

The rooms are dark, and the entire downstairs floor just seems empty, as though devoid of all presence. He walks to the foot of the stairs, and, bewildered, looks up.

"Lily?" He calls, softly, but loud enough to be heard. In response, a light patter of footsteps makes it way briskly along the carpeted hallway, and down the wooden steps.

He steps back. "Hello, James." She stands for a moment at the foot of the stairs, regarding him, but soon brushes by. He can't help but notice, she seems distracted, as though burden by a promise she's determined to keep.

He wants so much to follow her, to wrap his arms around her and tell her that he's sorry for whatever he's done. But, somehow, he doesn't dare.

Tongue-tied, he remains standing, almost by the foot of the stairs, but far away enough to seem stranded in the middle of the dark entryway.

"I waited for you, you know." She says quietly. For a brief moment, he wonders if he was even supposed to hear, or if it was one of those comments that women always seem to be filled with. Their _'Go ahead, dear,'_s mean _'Don't you dare,'_ and their silences speak a thousand words, all with a single breath.

He wrestles with himself for a moment, wondering what to say, if anything at all. All of his common sense tells him to remain silence, but before he's even realized, he's speaking aloud. "I know. I'm sorry."

Silence. And then a sigh. "I know you are. But you know what?"

He can hear her, breathing heavy, on the other side of the doorway, in the kitchen. He can picture her in the darkness, holding the doorframe for support, and clenching her eyes shut as she prepares to make her confession. "What?" he allows, not really wanting to know.

More silence. Silence so heavy, he goes lightheaded for a moment and wonders if it's suffocating him.

"I don't want to do this anymore!" she cries, and even though it's more of a hysterical outburst than an argument kind of yelling, it startles him. Although he never wanted to cause her pain, that's exactly what he's doing. He'd never even realized. "I don't want to wake up every morning and wonder if you'll be coming back! I don't want to have only that to think about when I go through my days! I'm sorry, James. I just can't."

He can hear her in the kitchen, the cupboards clanging as she opens one, closes another, searching for something. He can see her in his mind's eye, the room dark from near-dusk shadows, her long slender fingers struggling to grasp the handles. They're probably shaking. Why else would she be making such a racket?

Through the buzzing in his head, he wonders what she's doing, what she's searching for.

She's coming through the living room now, the carpet making her steps seem softer. In a moment, she'll be turning the corner, walking through the doorway into the front room.

He was right. Her hands are indeed shaking as she struggles to remove her jacket from the peg on the wall. His heart aches as she struggles to force her arms into the sleeves, an envelope clutched in her left hand.

It hits him, far too late, yet far too soon: she's leaving.

And this is wrong, all very wrong, because he made this decision in the first place to protect her, and everyone he loves. And he knows that, if nothing else is accomplished, he needs to make her understand. He needs to make her stay.

She wrenches open the door just as he blurts out, "You can't go."

Stopping, she stands silent, a hand on either side of the doorway, as if to support her. And then slowly, she turns around and gives something of a hollow laugh.

"Who are you to stop me, James?" She takes a step forward, and he thinks just how mocking she almost sounds. "I can't stop you from leaving. Why don't I just leave first?"

It's silent for a long moment before he realizes that she actually wants an answer.

He stumbles on his words, finally just settling with, "Because. Because you can't."

Her bitter smile turns into a sneer, and her eyes narrow. She takes another step closer. "Why not? Because it's easier this way? Because you don't want to worry?"

Her volume slowly increases, just as the distance between the two of them slowly decreases.

"Because you don't want to have to sit at home, day after day, and eat dinner alone? Stare at the wall for a few hours? Go to bed with nothing more to look forward to than doing it all again tomorrow?"

And now she's screaming, and crying, and all he can do is look at her and wonder.

"Well I've _done _that James! I've waited, and waited, and waited with nothing more than fear and baseless hope to get me by! And you know, I love you more than I dreamed I could have loved someone, but I just can't do it anymore!"

She hides her face in her hands, and he barely hears her whisper, "I'm not strong enough."

They're standing almost toe to toe now, and they only thing he can think of to say is, "I'm so sorry."

She takes her hands away from her face, and looks up at him, suddenly deftly calm, despite the tears still welling in her eyes.

When she speaks, it's barely a murmur. "I'm pregnant."

She looks down, and a flutter of a smile crosses her face. Then she squints up at him with a resolved, hurt sort of grimace. "I'm pregnant, and I'd kill you if you died now."

All of her previous arguments and confessions blow away out the door with this gust of knowledge. Pregnant. As in, a baby. As in, a baby _soon. _

And he looks at her, with her tears streaming down her face, and her whole body shaking, knowing that their relationship is in his hands now.

He could say anything, be it good or bad. He knows it. He knows she knows it. In the back of his mind, and entire chorus of people buzz about their disapproval. They can't raise a child. Are they crazy? They're still children themselves!

But he wraps his arms around her, and she presses her damp face into his neck. He's shocked, and she's exhausted, but all that either of them can think about is each other, and the life that they've somehow made.

"I won't leave you," he says, and thought they both know that it's a promise he couldn't possible keep, she accepts it anyway, and lets him wash away the hurt. In defiance of the world, they build up a wall of love, and wonder if it will be enough to shelter their child from the storm.

**AN: **Hm. I liked it, and then I didn't, and then I was really excited, and now I'm not sure.

Here's the thing: I have an idea for a short story, off of this, going through Lily's pregnancy. You'd have to bear with me and my extremely odd writing cycles, but I'd really like to try it.

I'm kind of certain that this chapter moves way too fast, especially at the end.

Let me know what you think in a review, though, and I'll decide whether to keep going nor just leave it as a oneshot.

Thanks!

-WWFF


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